


In Thrall

by thedevilchicken



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Dark, Drunk Sex, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Slaves, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:22:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29276886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Eivor goes looking for Ivarr. When he finds him, he's not alone.
Relationships: Eivor/Ivarr Ragnarsson, Eivor/Ivarr Ragnarsson/Original Male Character
Comments: 1
Kudos: 17
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	In Thrall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chicago_ruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicago_ruth/gifts).



When he came into the village and he asked the two men who stood posted at the gates where he'd find Ivarr the Boneless, they told him immediately. He should have known by the look on their faces that maybe finding Ivarr with all possible haste was not the best idea he'd ever had. 

The village had been occupied by the forces of Ivarr and Ubba for the past few days as they marched north to rejoin Halfdan in Eurvicscire. Its usual inhabitants were still there, looking cowed and nervous; most of the Ragnarsson men had been sleeping in tents or around fires, from the look of things, but Ivarr had taken over a house - not a big one, though possibly because there were no big houses to be had in a place that size, so perhaps it had just been the most convenient or the one he'd liked the look of most in the moment that he'd chosen. 

And when Eivor pushed the door open, he wished he hadn't. He'd found Ivarr, yes, but he wasn't alone. 

There was a man with him. That man was naked - his clothes were lying in tatters on the floor, underneath the knife Eivor suspected Ivarr had used to cut them off him. Ivarr himself was stripped to the waist, shirt and armour and most of his weapons strewn haphazardly across a worktop. The house's owner's things had been swept off it onto the floor where some of them had broken; Eivor was almost surprised Ivarr hadn't danced a jig on top of the rest to break them into pieces, too. 

Ivarr wasn't alone. He had the man bent down over a table; he had two fingers of one hand shoved into the man's mouth and two fingers of the other hand shoved somewhere rather lower. Eivor didn't object to that in particular - it would've made him a bit of a hypocrite, given the number of men he'd fucked and been fucked by was steadily crawling ever higher - but he did object to the slow trickles of blood over the backs of the man's thighs. From the look of it, of what Eivor could see, Ivarr had given him a few good slaps with the flat of his seax before they'd really started, but he hadn't been careful: the sharp edge had bitten in just here and there.

"Wolf-Kissed!" Ivarr said. He looked back at Eivor over his shoulder as he noticed his arrival, grinning ear to ear. "You want to join me? Have a little fun?"

Eivor frowned. " _He_ doesn't look like he's having fun," he replied, with a nod at Ivarr's rather less than willing-seeming partner. 

He'd seen him with Ivarr before, at Tamworth for certain but maybe also in Ledecestre before that, maybe even the day they'd met now he thought back to it. But it was Tamworth he remembered most, the night before Ceolwulf had taken Burgred's crown. 

They'd been drunk at the time it happened, so maybe that was why Eivor hadn't noticed what was going on till it was more or less already happening. They'd been drinking for hours, and Ivarr had been talking like they were perhaps friends and not reluctant allies, banging his cup on the table for emphasis every now and then. Eivor remembered him spilling his ale with one particularly vehement gesture, some time after the sun had set and they'd already had too much; it had splashed over the back of Eivor's hand and he remembered how Ivarr had looked at it and taken his wrist in his hand before he could just wipe it off on the thigh of his trousers. He remembered the look on Ivarr's face, the fucking wolfish smile, and how he bent his head to lick it off in one long swipe of his tongue. 

It maybe should have disgusted him, knowing what he knew about Ivarr and the fact that Ivarr's every act was to please himself and no one else. Curiously, though, it hadn't - he'd laughed like a drunk, because he really had been good and drunk, and patted Ivarr on one cheek. Ivarr had laughed, too, and pressed a smacking kiss to the palm of Eivor's hand. And when Ivarr had pushed himself up from this chair, teetering precariously, when he'd turned and sat himself down astride Eivor's lap, when he'd taken the cup of ale from Eivor's hand and finished it off, Eivor had let him. At the time, he hadn't seen any reason why he shouldn't. At the time, it had seemed almost like a good idea. 

He remembered Ivarr missing the table when he reached back to put the cup down - he missed because he'd been busy kissing him at the time, so it wasn't like he'd been able to see. He remembered Ivarr's hands in his hair, pulling it as he bit his lip, and when Eivor had jerked away, when he'd touched his fingers to his mouth, they'd come away bloody. Ivarr had just raised his eyebrows, like a fucking challenge, and Eivor had been drunk enough to rise to it. 

There was a building not far away, maybe a workshop once but not anymore. Once they'd stumbled inside, Eivor had realised it was where Ivarr was sleeping. There'd been a man there - that same man - naked on a mattress in the corner, and when Eivor had asked, "Who's he?" Ivarr had just laughed as he started pulling off his armour and said, "Why do you care, Wolf-Kissed? The more the merrier!" 

At the time, that had seemed fair. At the time, he hadn't paid the third man in the room much attention - he'd tripped over his own fucking feet and laughed like a fool as he and Ivarr knocked together, fumbling at each other's clothes like they meant to tear them off, pulling at each other's hair like they meant to tear it out. It wasn't until Ivarr had pushed him down onto the bed, until Ivarr had gestured for the man in it to straddle him, that he'd even really looked at him. It wasn't until Ivarr had reached one hand between the man's spread thighs to slick Eivor's cock with oil, until he'd guided it to the man's exposed hole, that he'd thought much about it at all. 

And frankly, once he was in him, he'd been so fucking drunk that all he could do was close his eyes and grip the man's hips as the room started spinning. He'd been so fucking drunk that when Ivarr laughed and shoved himself in, too, the man's yelp had barely even registered. It hadn't been till after, when he and Ivarr had been lying there naked, side by side, sweaty and spent, when he'd seen the scars. They weren't the sort you'd get from fighting. 

From the scars on his skin that night in Tamworth, Eivor had guessed that he was Ivarr's thrall. That day in the village, weeks later, he could guess the kinds of things that Ivarr might do to him on a regular basis - there were more scars there. And he thought to himself that maybe, just this once, he could help. 

"Does he have a name?" Eivor asked. 

"He's a thrall," Ivarr replied. "Does he need one?"

"You can't just call him _thrall_."

"Maybe _you_ can't." 

Ivarr stepped back. He pulled his fingers from the thrall's mouth and his other ones from the thrall's arse then crouched to wipe the spit from one hand and the oil from the other. The thrall didn't move, likely because he knew what would happen if he did, though maybe it still would if he didn't. 

"Would it make you feel better or worse if I said his name's Sigurd?" Ivarr said. He looked up at him, still wiping his hands on the thrall's shredded clothes. 

"Like your brother or mine?"

Ivarr stood. He shrugged his bare shoulders. And Eivor took one last look at the scars on Ivarr's thrall's torn back, at the blood on his thighs, the way his head was bowed, before he stepped in close. He ran his fingers over Ivarr's throat and for a second thought he might just squeeze, but then he didn't; he ran his hand down lower.

"You're staying, then?" Ivarr said. There was a twinkle to his eye and a twist to his mouth that Eivor would've liked to have punched straight out of him, but then maybe Ivarr would have liked that. 

Eivor nodded. "Yes," he said, and slipped his fingers down behind the waist of Ivarr's trousers. He tugged him forward. He twisted Ivarr's hair around his other hand and pulled until he tilted his head back, till he exposed his throat so he could skim it with his teeth. "We don't need him this time. But you put your fingers in my mouth and I'll fucking bite them off."

Ivarr laughed out loud and told him maybe he'd try - the look on his face said they'd probably find out, and Eivor knew which one of them was right because he could practically already feel Ivarr's fingertips press down against his tongue. Ivarr smiled that same familiar smile, like perhaps he'd been the wolf who'd tried to tear out Eivor's throat, and like he might just try again. But then he waved the thrall away and Eivor watched him leave, his tattered clothing in his arms and a confused look on his face. He heard the door close over the thudding of his heart, and then they were alone together. 

Maybe it was just a brief reprieve. Maybe tomorrow Ivarr would put another scar on him. But this time, just for once, Eivor took his place - somehow, between the teeth at his throat and the knife on his skin, he found he didn't mind at all.

And four weeks later, when they met again, the thrall wasn't with him. Eivor didn't ask why but somewhere between Ivarr's sharp smile and Ivarr's sharp knife, he suspected he knew. 

He knew. And when Ivarr beckoned, he went with him anyway.


End file.
